Skies on Fire
by webofdreams89
Summary: A mysterious burn victim, a decades old crime, and a banshee. Sam and Dean aren’t sure what to think.
1. Prologue

**Author's Rants:** Okay! Hello, hello. The idea for this story has been rattling around in my head for a while now. Working out the logistics of the entire story was a bit of an ordeal, but I finally have an outline worth writing. Hopefully you agree. This story takes place in the Season 2 realm of Supernatural, some time after the season premier and before the season finale. In my mind, I like to think that it takes place sometime between _Everybody Loves a Clown _and _Heart_. Just so you know, **there will be spoilers in this story**, so if you haven't seen past season 2 yet and don't want to know, then don't read. Or wait until you watch season 2 to read! I have the prologue and the first three chapters written already and can warn you specifically that there will be spoilers for the Pilot, _Bloody Mary,_ and _In My Time of Dying_. I don't think the chapters will be very long, but I am hoping that this will allow me to update more frequently as a result. Let's keep our fingers crossed. Enjoy!

Summary: A mysterious burn victim, a decades old crime, and a banshee. Sam and Dean aren't sure what to think.

o.O.o

Skies on Fire  
Prologue

o.O.o

Skies on fire  
Flames burn higher  
-AC/DC, _Skies on Fire_

o.O.o

Maccoy Kavanagh heard a rustling behind him and a second later, her partner, Officer Roger Del Marco, was standing next to his desk.

"Hey Mac, I'm going to run down to Debbie's for a moment. You want anything?" Mac saw that there were deep, purple bags under his partner's eyes and suddenly he felt a pang of guilt. This case with the missing and murdered children, it was consuming nearly all his time.

But Mac knew that he had to find the killer, had to if he was ever going to be forgiven.

He just felt bad that his own frenzied obsession was disrupting Roger's life as well.

"Yeah, sure," Mac said, moving to pull his wallet from his pocket.

"No, I got this," Roger said.

"You sure?" Mac asked. He knew how stubborn his partner was when it came to things like money. Once his mind was made up, he was immovable.

"Positive. Besides, you remember two weeks ago when I left my wallet in the car and you bought me dinner?"

Mac didn't and was actually pretty sure that what Roger described had never happened, but he let it go. It was easier that way. "Oh yeah," he replied, smiling.

"So what do you want?"

Mac thought for a moment. "Two of whatever you're having," he said with a laugh.

"Alright," Roger said, "but if you don't watch it, you'll start looking like me before you know it."

"I'm not too worried," Mac said.

Roger turned and left their office then. When Mac heard the office door shut, he picked up a photo that he kept hidden in his desk.

He stared at it, knowing that he was torturing himself unnecessarily. He knew he should just forget about it, that sometimes it came with the job, but he just couldn't let it go. And until he found the person that was murdering the children, he wouldn't forgive himself.

Mac stowed the photograph and sat silently for a moment. Deep in thought, it took him a moment to notice that there was something not quite right with his left arm, something _off._

He looked at his arm, and his jaw dropped. That thing that was off was the heat, the quickly blistering skin beneath his jacket.

Mac leapt away from his desk, knocking his chair over in the process. He grabbed his untouched lukewarm mug of coffee, dousing the flames that were beginning to leap off his arm. The coffee seemed only to fuel the fire and he threw the mug onto the floor. He tried taking off his jacket then, but it seemed to get so tight all of a sudden, several sizes too small. No matter what he tried, he couldn't wrench it from his body.

The flames spread quickly and the pain grew and grew. But he couldn't scream, his throat had closed up, leaving him gasping for breath. Mac thought back to elementary school safety and threw himself on the ground. Rolling about seemed about as helpful as the coffee had been.

It didn't take long before his muscles gave out. The flames roared, leaping across his entire body and all Mac could do was feel the agony of burning to death.

The last thing Mac thought before he was too far gone was that now he'd get to see Lilly again.

o.O.o

As Roger opened the door to the office he shared with Mac, the first thing he noticed was the horrid smell. The office was dark, so he figured Mac had left it. Turning to the left, Roger felt the wall until he found the light switch. Flicking the lights on, he stopped dead in his tracks, dropping the bag of doughnuts and the cups of coffee onto the carpet.

On the floor before him were still smoldering ashes in the shape of a human body. And in the cheap, fluorescent lighting, he could see Mac's silver engraved wedding band wink at him.


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's Rants: Chapter 2 is already written and will be up soon. I needs edited, but I am hoping to have it posted by the end of the week at the latest.**

**Summary: A mysterious burn victim, a decades old crime, and a banshee. Sam and Dean aren't sure what to think.**

o.O.o

Skies on Fire  
Chapter 1

o.O.o

We didn't start the fire  
It was always been burning since the world's been turning  
We didn't start the fire  
The we didn't light it, we tried to fight it  
-Billy Joel, _We Didn't Start the Fire_

o.O.o

"Well," Dean began impatiently, staring into his cup of coffee, "got anything yet? Because I am _really_ itching to kill something."

"Jeez, could you be any louder?" From across the table, Sam Winchester rolled his eyes as he scanned the screen of his laptop. "Not as of yet…Hmm, well, that's interesting," he mused, eyes darting back and forth as he examined a particular article.

"What is?" Dean asked, tossing back a couple chilly cheese fries and a deep gulp of Pepsi.

"This news article from a paper called the Toledo Blade. You remember Toledo, Ohio, right?"

"That's the case where we had to vanquish that Bloody Mary bitch, right? The one that made your eyes bleed?"

"The one and the same," Sam said with a small shudder. That particular case had not been an easy one, especially since he was carrying guilt from Jessica's death. Mary had killed those who kept secrets about a person close to them that died. It had taken quite a lot out of him, getting over that case.

"Anyway," he went on, "something a bit…_odd_ happened in Toledo yet again. A man named Maccoy Kavanagh burned to death."

"Burning to death isn't all that uncommon," Dean said. "What's the catch?"

"When the guy's sister found him, he was completely ash, even his bones."

"That must have been one hot fire to burn fresh bones to death."

"No kidding. And get this. He had to be identified by his _wedding band_."

"Ouch," Dean said. "That had to suck for his wife."

"Actually," Sam said, "his wife's dead. Died about three years ago of breast cancer according to the paper."

"Who identified him then?" Dean asked, leaning forward.

"Victim's sister, Meri Kavanagh, identified him. Apparently, Maccoy and his wife had unique wedding bands, but the paper doesn't say any more than that. Also, he was a cop."

"Well," Dean began, his interest officially piqued.

"Well…?" Sam asked.

"Better make sure your suit is dry-cleaned, Francis, because it looks like we're going to Ohio."

o.O.o

Dr. Pierce Black looked up from the body he was doing a preliminary on. Two suits had just stepped into the autopsy room. He set his clipboard down, and asked, "Can I help, gentlemen?"

"Yes sir," the shorter man asked, pulling a badge from his pocket, partner following suit. "I'm Agent Drummond and this is Agent North. We're here about Maccoy Kavanagh."

"I'm not surprised that the FBI's getting involved in this one," Dr. Black said with a sigh.

"Why do you say that?" Sam asked.

"I haven't finalized my report yet, so this will have to be off the record," Black began.

"Of course," Dean agreed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Truthfully, Kavanagh's death is just bizarre. He was found at the station, nothing more than ash."

"And is that rare in burn cases?" Sam asked.

"In this case it was," Black said. "Temperatures would have to have been extremely high for him to have been able to burn like that. That, or he would have had to have burned for a long time. But that's not possible. What they haven't put in the papers is that Kavanagh died in the middle of the work day. The station would have been full of cops. The guy's partner says that he ran down to the coffee shop, was gone fifteen minutes tops, and returned to find a pile of ashes on the floor. He says that his partner was working at his desk when he left. And everyone else in the office, they said no one left Kavanagh's office or went into his office until Del Marco came back."

Sam frowned. "Less than fifteen minutes? What about the office? Wouldn't that have caught fire too?

Dr. Black nodded. "Yeah, they would have with temperatures that hot. But they didn't. And the ring, not a scratch on it. As for the office, with the exception of minor burn marks on the floor, nothing."

"Couldn't the burn marks have been from dumping hot ash on the floor?"

"I thought of that too, but only fifteen minutes, I find it difficult that someone had time to reduce a man to nothing, let along drag him off somewhere, crisp him, and return him to his office."

"How do the police no for sure that the ashes belonged to Officer Kavanagh? Isn't it possible that someone captured him, took his ring off of him and deposited the ashes to make it look like he was dead."

Dr. Black laughed then. "You haven't heard the best part, have you, Agents? There was one other thing that did not burn that should have."

"What?"

"Kavanagh's _hair._"

"His hair?" Dean asked.

"Yep. And there's not way anyone could have just cut it off either. The follicles were still in tact."

"What the…?" Dean began.

"I know!" the good doctor said excitedly before adding, "But the weirdest thing of all, I think, is that Maccoy Kavanagh burned that quickly."

"We knew that."

"Yes, but when I performed the autopsy, I found not even the slightest trace of accelerant."

o.O.o

As they were leaving the morgue, Dr. Pierce said, "You guys don't want to hear about the other case?"

Collectively, Sam and Dean turn. "Other case?" Sam asks, looking at his older brother.

"Yeah," Black admits, almost giggling. "This one's a real doozey too."

"Well…" Dean says after Dr. Black is silent for a moment too long.

"Oh, right. I guess it started over a year ago. Children started getting snatched form their homes."

"As sad as it is to say, that's hardly anything new," Sam said.

"True, but over the last year, eight children between the ages of three and nine have been snatched, their bodies turning up later. And get this, they all died the same way."

"And how's that?"

"They were each found with bags over their heads," Dr. Black replied pleasantly. "Asphixiation.

"Anyway, Lila from the crime lab, who I'm sort of seeing, told me a few weeks ago that it is absolutely true the children are being killed by the same person. All of them were found with their hands and feet bound by the same yellow rope. And they were each found to be a match to one another."

o.O.o

"How the hell does someone burn do death but leave his hair behind?" Dean asked aloud as the got into the Impala. "I mean, really. His hair? Did he remember to put his flame retardant mousse on that morning or what?"

"Man, I don't know," Sam admitted. "But we do have a few leads to go on. We need to see his partner and his family. Someone has to know something."

"They better, because other that finding out that Dr. Pierce Black is a major gossip and sickly fascinated with dead children."

"No kidding," Sam said, shuddering slightly at the memory.

Dean added, "And on a different note, seeing the body told us nothing. It was just a box of ashes. I think I inhaled dead guy."

"Yeah, me too," Sam said at the rather unpleasant memory.

"We could always visit local law enforcement. Get their take on things and see if they have any more clues."

"We're visiting Kavanagh's partner," Sam pointed out.

"Yeah," Dean replied, "but as far as I'm concerned, he's a suspect."

"True. But we should only visit the local cops at a last ditch effort. You're wanted by the law if you recall, Dean."

"Yeah," Dean admitted, sighing. Sam saw him visibly deflate. He knew that his brother hated hiding, especially when there was a case at hand. "You'll have to go by yourself if it comes to that."

"So what do you think about the other case, the one with the dead children?"

"I don't really think that's our kind of case, Sammie. I mean, it sucks that these kids are dying, but there's nothing supernatural about asphyxiation."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Sam conceded. "Anyway, I thought of something else."

"What's that?" Dean asked, curious.

"Why didn't the fire detectors go off?"

o.O.o

"Did you notice anything odd the days preceding your son's death, Mrs. Kavanagh?" Sam asked as he sat in the woman's living room. "Anything out of the ordinary perhaps?"

"Oh I don't know," the woman replied. Sam could tell that her eyes were puffy and red, but didn't comment on it. He knew all about mourning. "My neighbors fought more than usual, but truthfully, they always fight, so that isn't really all that out of the ordinary. But that's a silly thing to mention."

"Anything could be a break through in your son's case, ma'am. Even things that seem trivial or unrelated," Sam assured her.

"Well, there is this one thing," Mrs. Kavanagh admitted. "A few times before my Maccoy died, I could have sworn that I heard someone screaming."

"Screaming?" Sam asked.

She nodded. "I know that it sounds crazy, but I could have sworn that it was coming from my attic, but every time I checked, there was nothing there but dust and cobwebs.

"But it could have just been my son's video games or those awful horror movies he likes to watch."

"You have another son?" Sam asked.

Mrs. Kavanagh nodded. She stood and walked over to her fire place, pulling down a framed photograph and handing it to Sam. "These are my children," she said. "That's Maccoy on the left." She seemed to choke a bit then. "Keith in the middle, and my daughter Meri on the right."

As Sam studied the photograph, one thing jumped out at him immediately. Despite have different complexions and eye colors, each of Mrs. Kavanagh's children had the exact shade of bright red hair. He looked up at her and saw her to be blond, a few gray hairs at her temples.

"You're children are all redheads," he said.

"Oh yes," Mrs. Kavanagh said with a sad smile. "They get that from their father. He had red hair just like them." Sam saw a wedding photo of Mr. and Mrs. Kavanagh on the mantle next to where the picture of their children had been.

"I take it you and Mr. Kavanagh are separated then?" Sam asked, knowing it to be wrong. He just felt bad for causing the woman more pain than she was already in.

"Oh no," Mrs. Kavanagh said, "I'm widowed. Lochlain died in a car accident ten years ago."

"I'm very sorry," Sam began but was interrupted as four people walked in the door.

He knew Keith and Meri right away from the photograph. They were accompanied with two young children, a boy of about five and a girl of roughly three, each with the familial red hair. He had read that Maccoy had two young children.

"Hey Mom, Keith called me after you didn't pick him up from school," the woman said, walking into the room.

"That would be my fault," Sam said, standing.

"Meri, Keith, this is Agent North. He's working on your brother's case."

"Hi," Keith said, taking a seat next to his mother. "I was worried," he said to her quietly.

"Hi," Meri echoed, sticking her hand out for Sam to shake. He had noticed that she was pretty in her photograph, but seeing her in person, it hadn't done her justice. Her eyes were a bright blue, a light of dusting of freckles covering her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.

Sam asked a few more questions, this time directing them at Maccoy's sibling, before taking his leave, feeling that he had intruded long enough.

Meri walked him to the door. As he stepped through it, and walked across the porch, he heard her say, "Agent North, wait!"

He stopped, turning around to face her.

She frowned slightly to herself before taking a step forward. "There's something I want to ask you."

"Sure," Sam said.

Of all the things Sam had been expecting, details of her brother's death, any leads or suspects, it had definitely not been _this:_

"Would you like to go out to dinner with me?"

o.O.o


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: This got posted a little later than I had intended, but I have been pretty busy lately with school and work. Enjoy!**

o.O.o

Skies on Fire  
Chapter 2

o.O.o

I only want to burn in desire  
Let me stand next to your fire  
-Jimi Hendrix, _Fire_

o.O.o

"Are you Officer Roger Del Marco?" Dean asked as a portly sort of man answered the door.

"I am," the guy said, "but just who the fuck are you?" Dean noticed that he had a New York accent along with a particularly redneck sense of fashion of a dirty wife-beater and saggy-assed, faded jeans.

"Agent Drummond," Dean said, pulling his fake badge from his pocket to show to the kindhearted man before him.

"So what you doing here? I don't want to talk about Mac anymore. Told the other cops all about it about sixteen times."

"That may be," Dean said, gritting his teeth and suddenly remorseful in the face that Sam had beaten him in rock, paper, scissors yet again, "but I'm _not_ a cop. I'm an FBI agent and you better show me a little respect before I haul your ass in for harassment."

"I ain't harassed you," Del Marco said scoffingly.

"Clearly, our definitions of the word are worlds different," Dean said through gritted teeth.

Reluctantly, the man let Dean into his home. Dean found that he would have been much happier out on the porch. Del Marco obviously lived alone and didn't get to many visitors by the looks of things.

Del Marco clearly weighed his options and rather reluctantly admitted, "I apologize for being rude. I'm just a bit pissed that my boss more or less forced me to take an extended vacation."

"More or less?"

Sighing, Del Marco added, "He said that I either agree to the vacation or I get transferred to Bowling Green. Nothing there but a bunch of punk college kids who've had too much to drink."

"I see," Dean said, wishing for the umpteenth time that he'd gotten the grieving mother rather than the drunk and disorderly cop. He didn't much like cops anyway, but he hated cops like the one before him, the ones who were parodies of cops.

"So you're here 'bout Mac?" Del Marco asked, knowing it to be true. "What do you want to know?"

Dean leaned forward a little, his elbows resting on his knees. "Tell me everything that happened that day."

Del Marco's account of what happened matched everything the coroner had told them: ordinary work day, Del Marco left to grab coffee and doughnuts, was gone only fifteen minutes, and when he returned, Maccoy Kavanagh was a pile of smoldering ashes.

"Now was there anything…strange you noticed about Kavanagh before his death? Any weird behavior or anything out of the ordinary at all?"

Del Marco's rum-rimmed eyes flickered down to his hands. "Mac had been acting weird for a while before his…death."

"Weird? How so?"

Del Marco sighed and scratched his head, thinking. "I don't know. He began talking differently, became really negative. He was always so optimistic, one of those indefatigable optimists or whatever they call 'em. Mr. Sunshine. But then he became sullen, started withdrawing into himself."

"When did this start? When did he begin acting differently?"

Del Marco sighed again. "It was right after this drug raid. It was pretty routine, but a few people died.

"Some cops just have their limits," he added. "I think Mac reached his."

o.O.o

Because Mrs. Kavanagh's house was only about six streets from the motel they were staying at, Sam decided to just walk back, shooting Dean a text to let him know, as surprisingly short walk for a city the size of Toledo. He walked leisurely down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, humming some song or another from one of Dean's many cassette tapes. It was quickly growing warmer, so he had taken off his jacket, tucking it under his arm. He had also unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled his sleeves up.

It had been a long time since he was in quite this good of a mood. But he figured that getting asked out by beautiful girls did that to a guy.

He reached the motel a little while later. Grabbing the key from his pocket, he opened the door, glanced briefly around to see if anyone suspicious was about, and stepped inside. The first thing Sam did was to change in something more comfortable, jeans and t-shirt, kicking off his dress shoes and tossing them into the corner.

Turning his thoughts away from redheads, he grabbed a can of beer from the mini fridge and flopped on his bed. Grabbing the remote from where it lay on Dean's end table, he turned on the TV, flipping through channels until he made it back around, coming to the conclusion that there was absolutely nothing worthwhile playing at four o'clock on a Tuesday.

Sighing, he turned the TV back off and was just about to reach for his dog-eared paperback when his eyes landed on Dean's half spilled duffle. Laying half in, half out of the bag was his dad's journal. Instantly, that familiar pang of sorrow, of guilt and a dozen other jumbled emotions leapt forth. Sam pushed them away, just as he had grown accustomed too.

Instead, he grabbed the journal, opening it to the first page. He figured the case, strange as it was, was definitely worth a flip through their hunting bible. He scanned the pages, looking for anything having to do with fire, with completely torched corpses, anything that might give them a clue as to what they were dealing with.

It wasn't any of the logistics to do with the case that caught Sam's eye, but rather a _name._ The word Kavanagh leapt out at him from the page. As he scanned the entry, a few things seemed to click into place, but hardly everything.

He grabbed his laptop from his own duffel and quickly connected to the motel's rather iffy Wi-Fi. He came across a helpful article, reading it in its entirety.

And honestly, he could have slapped himself. Thinking back to one particular thing Anne Kavanagh had said, it seemed so _obvious_ to him now.

o.O.o

Dean had just parked his car in the lot of a fast food restaurant. Snatching his cell from his pocket, he opened it and hit the speed dial for Sam. His brother answered it almost instantly.

"Hey Sam, I just stopped to get us something to eat and was wondering what you wanted."

"Uh, burger and fries, I guess," Sam replied, obviously distracted.

"You sure only one burger and a few little potato sticks are going to fill you, big guy?"

"Two burgers then," Sam said.

Dean frowned then. "Sam, what's up with you?"

He heard his brother sigh. "I found something out. About the case. It's pretty important, I think. Look, just get the food and get back here, okay?"

"Sure," Dean said, closing his phone and stepping into line. He placed his order and, five minutes later, was heading back to his car.

Halfway across the parking lot, he saw from the corner of his eye a woman approaching him. Discreetly glancing at her, he realized that he didn't recognize her. But, grinning to himself slightly. He sure wished he did.

"Well I'll be damned!" she said, probably to herself, as she approached. "If it isn't a Winchester!"

That promptly stopped Dean in his tracks. "What makes you think I'm a Winchester?" he asked, his voice quite a bit harsher than he wished it was. It wouldn't pay to lose his cool in front of this woman. She could have been a Fed, a real one.

She laughed then. "You mean other than your snappy and defensive comeback?" she asked with a smile. After a measured silence in which she seemed to be thinking her words through, she said, "Everyone hears things, rumors and such, and I've heard that the Brothers Winchester are mm, mm, good."

Dean, quite unwillingly, smirked to himself before asking, "Just who the hell are you?"

"So you must be_ Dean_ then." She now stood right in front of him and Dean could see that she was gorgeous, long dark brown hair and dark green eyes. "The older, more sarcastic of the two. I heard that Sam was the more compassionate one, the kind of guy that you can bring home to mommy."

"You still didn't answer my question."

She stuck her hand out then. "The name's Aceline Tedorik, Hunter. But since I like you so much, Dean, I'll let you call me Ace."

"That's wonderful," Dean said sarcastically. Despite the rush of attraction he felt for her, he still couldn't trust her, not when she clearly knew more about him than he did her. "So you're a hunter?"

Ace nodded. "Yep," she said, still smiling at him. Dean could tell that she wasn't one to break her composure easily. "I was trained by my daddy just like you were trained by yours."

"And what brings you to Toledo? It's hardly hopping with supernatural activity."

"True enough," she agreed, "but there certainly is an interesting case here. Look Dean, we're here for the same reason, to catch Maccoy Kavanagh's killer and bring a little justice to his family.

"So why don't we just work together?"

"You want to work together?" Dean asked, raising an eye brow.

Ace nodded. "Besides," she went on, "I'm pretty sure that I know something here that you don't."

o.O.o

The second Dean opened the door to their motel room, Sam stood from where he had been sitting.

"What's so urgent?" Dean asked, handing Sam his bag of fast fried food.

"The Kavanagh's are being haunted by a banshee."

That stopped Dean in his tracks. "Seriously? A banshee? How do you know?"

"Well, when I went to go talk to Anne Kavanagh, she mentioned something about hearing screaming in her house a few days before her son died. She said that she thought it was coming from her attic, but every time she went up there to look, she didn't find anything. I didn't really think anything of it at the time. But when I came back here, I started flipping through Dad's journal and found this."

Sam handed over the journal. Dean took it, eyes widening as he read:

Banshee. Sometimes they are dressed in white, sometimes in a winding sheet or burial gown. They wail, they scream, sometimes they sing to signal that death approaches for some member of the household where they are heard. Banshees are said to be attached only to the five great families of Ireland; the O'Grady's, the O'Conner's, the O'Brien's, the O'Neill's, and the Kavanagh.

"So we really are dealing with a banshee," Dean said.

But Sam looked grim. "Just keep reading."

Usually they come in one of three forms, which correspond to the three stages of womanhood (and maybe have something to do with the age of a person whose death is being signaled). A banshee is either a beautiful young woman, a matron, or a corpselike hag. The banshee often appears crying as she washes bloody clothes by a river—usually the clothes of someone about to die. Banshees are said to be the spirits of women who died violently or were murdered or who died in childbirth. See death omens.

" 'See death omens,'" Dean repeated. "So we have a banshee haunting the Kavanagh family, but it is _not_ what killed Maccoy."

"It can't be," Sam said, sighing. "Banshees are just death omens particular to the Irish. They just tell the family members that someone they love is about to die."

"Now that's fucked up," Dean muttered. "Good work, Sam."

"Yeah, but it doesn't get us any further in figuring out what killed Maccoy."

"True," Dean began, kicking his shoes off and sitting on the edge of his bed, "but there's something I have to tell you."

"Something Officer Del Marco told you?" Sam asked, sitting on his own bed and opening his bag of food.

"Nah, I didn't get much out of the prick other than Maccoy wasn't his usual chipper self right before he died. Some drug raid or another where people died. But I did meet someone else who may be able to help us."

"Really? Who?"

Dean told Sam about how he met Ace. "She sounded legit, but I still think we should call Bobby and ask him if he knows her. Maybe Ellen too.

"But if Ace does check out, she may be able to help."

"What do you mean?" Sam said, then taking a bite out of his burger. Smelling the food, it made realize just how hungry he really was.

"Well," Dean began, "Ace said that there was something that she knew and I didn't."

"She actually said that?" Sam asked, laughing.

"Yeah," Dean said with a mouthful of food, "she did."

"It could be a trap," Sam pointed out.

"Yeah, I though of that. But she want to meet us at that bar up the road. The one with the neon watermelons."

"Oh, that bar. But what I don't get is why she just wouldn't tell you then."

"I don't know, Sam. She's a woman. You know how they are."

"What did she say?"

Dean muttered something then.

"I didn't quite catch that, you know."

"She said that she wants to meet you too. She said that you have to be there."

"Really?" Sam said, grinning at his brother. They were quiet for a moment, eating their food in silence. Finally, after swallowing a few fries, Sam said, "You agreed, didn't you? To meet up with her tomorrow?"

Dean didn't say anything, but he didn't really need to.

"She must be cute if you said yes so quickly. Really cute."

"Oh, just call Bobby, would ya?"

"Yes sir," Sam said, saluting his brother. He grabbed his phone from his night stand and dialed Bobby's number.

"Hello?" Bobby said into the phone.

"Bobby, it's Sam."

"Oh, hey Sam. How's it going?"

"Pretty good, Bobby, and you?"

"Good, good. Working a case in North Dakota. Got an incubus about I think."

"Ouch. Actually, the reason I called is because we have a few questions."

"Well, question away."

"First, do you know anyone named Ace Tedorik?"

"Of course," Bobby said with a laugh. "She's a real pistol. About your age I think, Sam, or maybe a bit older. Her dad's a hunter too. His name's Troy Tedorik. Why do you ask?"

"Well, apparently she's working the same case as us. Dean met her a little while ago. We're supposed to meet her tomorrow and swap notes. You think that's a good idea?"

"I don't see why not," Bobby said. "She's a good hunter. Her dad trained her well."

"That's good news."

"Now what's the other thing you wanted to ask?"

Sam briefly described the case to Bobby. "It sounds like you're right about the banshee, but there's really nothing you can do about that. Banshees are the spirits of dead women and since they're Irish women, you have to go Trans-Atlantic to salt and burn the bones.

"In my experience though, they're little more than death omens though."

"So any idea what could have charred a man through and through in under fifteen minutes?"

Bobby laughed cynically. "No clue there. Either the partner's lying or you have some high class bad ass on your hands."

"I was afraid you were going to say that."

o.O.o


End file.
